My mother watches over me as I climb into bed. I pull my duvet right up to my neck to hide every bit of my horrendous pink nightie. “Now… bedtime means ‘bed’ time which means you should stay in bed until morning.” she reminded me. “If you flush, I’ll hear it, if you don’t, I’ll see it… so unless you want to wear a nappy all day tomorrow…” She didn’t need to say anything else.

I stuck out my lip and hung my head. Mum’s threat echoed in my skull when I woke in the night needing the toilet. I swallowed my pride and used my nappy before eventually drifting back to sleep. Admitting that I’d wet my nappy the following morning was beyond humiliating… but Mum said I’d been a good boy before putting me under the shower. In my room, she’d placed a pair of knickers and the woolly white tights on my bed. I moaned at the prospect of wearing tights, but Mum said they’ll be nice and warm and reminded me that we’re going to spend my gift vouchers today.

Being ‘high street’ vouchers, they can be exchanged in most leading stores. Mum suggested I spend them on clothes but I wanted to spend them on my train set… not my new one, but my proper one. We went to the big toy shop and straight to the model railway section. The Intercity 125 had been reduced from £35 to £30 pounds which meant I was £5 short. I asked my Mum if she’d put up the extra money but she refused. “Why not get some things for your new train set?” she suggested. For a kid’s train set, there was some cool accessories such as cranes, coal hoppers and an engine shed with a turntable, but Mum restricted my choices to the Fairy Town accessories only. I exited the toy shop with the princess express and the pink ‘fairy’ tunnel. These items came to £22 and my remaining £3 was spent on two new dresses… for Florence.

When we got home, Mum suggested I move my train set up to my bedroom. She also suggested that I put Florence in one of her new dresses, and that I wear my sailor dress for the rest of the day whilst playing with my trains. “Do I have to?” I whined.

“What do you think?” Mum asked. I glumly took hold of the carrier bag from the toy shop and turn the leave. “Oh… can you put this in the bathroom cupboard on your way.” she said, passing me the huge tub of nappy rash cream.

That evening, I asked if I could watch Hooper which finishes bang on my bedtime. Mum said I could but once again, she put me in the bath at around 7.20pm so I only got to watched the first half, which to be honest, was mostly boring. “It feels all gooey.” I whined as I smeared the cream on myself before washing my hands and pulling on a clean nappy.

“Well it’ll stop you from getting sore if you wet yourself again.” she said.

“So would letting me use the loo.” I sulked as she put Florence in my arms.

“Maybe so… but petticoated boys don’t use the toilet after bedtime.” she bluntly reminded me.

I distinctly remember putting Florence on the floor but woke up to find her beside me. After a quick shower, I got dressed and was prompted to put Florence in one of her dresses. “Why?” I whined.

“Because she can’t spend all day in just her underwear can she?” Mum replied. “You wouldn’t like to wear just your knickers would you?” she asked. I shook my head before meekly proceeding to put Florence in one of her three outfits. She spent much of the day on my lap as I watched TV, (reluctantly) played with my train set and flicked through my pettiquette book. “Mu-um?” I murmured.

“Yes dear?”

“It says here that I’m supposed to call you ‘mummy’.”

“It says that in my petticoating guide too.”

“Does that mean I have to?”

“Well… it’s nicer than just ‘mum’.” she said. “I’d like it if you did call me Mummy.”

“But… only little kids say that.”

“…and petticoated boys.” she replied. “Now I don’t expect you to call me Mummy if we’ve got visitors or if we’re visiting someone… but when it’s just us two…” she paused. “What do you think?”

“I’d rather not… I’d feel silly calling you Mummy again.”

“Only at first.” she claimed. “It takes a little while to get used to knew things.” she informed me, citing moving to a new town, starting a new school or even having new shoes as comparable examples.

Throughout the remainder of the Christmas holiday, my mother prompted me to address her as Mummy instead of Mum. I didn’t want to but but after a while I got tired of having to rephrase every question, request or reply in accordance with the guidelines in my pettiquette book. Saying Mummy felt shameful and humiliating for a twelve year old but it was easier than having to correct myself all the time… although contrary to my mother claim, I’m not getting used to saying it. I’m not getting used to my super-early bedtime either, or wearing knickers every day and a nappy every night. Going to sleep feeling gooey and waking up wet is horrible… and that nappy rash cream has made what little hair I had down there disappear. Mum says it’s more hygienic.